


obsession called while you were out

by gothfob



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Bottom Pete, Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, Happy Halloween, Kissing, M/M, Murder, Robbery, Stalking, Violence, Voyeurism, and fluff strangely, but theres also. banter, gabe is....an asshole, how do i even tag this oh god, if that matters to anyone idk, kind of lol, oh and a serial killer, patrick is a criminal, pete is an actual creep, pete is sweet yet disturbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 05:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21247928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothfob/pseuds/gothfob
Summary: Pete Wentz is the manager of a motel. Mainly because it’s a family business, and his younger siblings couldn’t be bothered to come home to manage it.Pete’s mother died a few years ago, and with her death Pete gained a new job and a soulless smile to match. He was always a mama’s boy, and his father passed away when he was very little. Pete barely remembers him.The motel is right by a lake, which just happens to be convenient to Pete’s interests.Or the Bates Motel/Dexter AU absolutely no one asked for.





	obsession called while you were out

Pete Wentz is the manager of a motel. Mainly because it’s a family business, and his younger siblings couldn’t be bothered to come home to manage it.

Pete’s mother died a few years ago, and with her death Pete gained a new job and a soulless smile to match. He was always a mama’s boy, and his father passed away when he was very little. Pete barely remembers him. 

The motel is right by a lake, which just happens to be convenient to Pete’s interests. 

Pete is a loner, though he’s good at charming everyone he meets. He lives in solitude, most of the time. Unless he’s at the front desk checking people in. He has them wrapped around his little finger within minutes. Some might say he has ulterior motives, and, well...they’re right. 

Sometimes, he’s just looking for a quick fuck. Even his misery needs company here and there. The majority of the people who come into the motel don’t go back out. The location is a prime spot, because it’s far away from the city and only tourists seem to come to stay, so no one notices when they go missing. 

Pete’s always been a person who’s a little off. Most people can’t figure out why, and Pete is grateful for that. 

Pete had a fascination with killing animals as a kid. His mother found out and had him see a psychiatrist, of course. But the medications didn’t do much for him, and ultimately he became more interested in killing people as a teenager. 

It’s not that he hates people, or anything. It’s more like he has this insatiable urge. This compelling feeling to kill. He thinks it’s kind of like an addiction. 

The first time he fell in love, it was with a girl a couple of years older than him. He fell hard, and fast, and she ended up dumping him because he was clingy and he tried too hard.

It made him lose his mind, the calabre of these feelings. He was full of rage. His obsessive tendencies took a turn for the worst and he decided that he was going to make a plan to murder her. Pete was eighteen at the time, when he killed his first victim. 

He has a lock of her hair kept in his secret stash of mementos. Over the years, he’s gotten better at his craft. He considers it to be like an art.

Pete kills them all the same way, stabs them in the chest and dismembers them afterwards to make them easier to dispose of in the lake. He has a boat docked down by the pier. 

There have been a few people who have slipped through the cracks, but they never found out his secret. Pete slept with them and they went away. So he let them go.

He only kills the ones he loves, after all. It makes sense to him. He has rules, just like any smart serial killer. There’s a reason he hasn’t been caught, and he doesn’t think it’s luck. 

It’s a regular Saturday, just like any other, until it isn’t. 

Pete gets out of bed, brushes his teeth, fixes his hair, puts on his dress pants and the blazer with his name tag on it. He isn’t a fan of the stuffy outfit, he thinks it makes him look like his grandfather.

But it’s part of the whole shtick he’s got going on. He won’t fool anyone into his bed or a body bag if he’s wearing his street clothes behind the front desk. He likes to lull them into a false sense of security. It’s a game of cat and mouse he never gets tired of.

Pete walks into the lobby and flips the sign from closed to open on the door. Then, like every morning, he sips his coffee and waits. 

The only other people who work at the motel are a couple of maids, who happily do turn down service. Pete is good friends with them, or at least he pretends to be so they won’t get too suspicious of his activities during the night.

He also pays them extra to turn a blind eye to anything they do happen to see when Pete isn’t careful enough. 

Pete is startled out of his thoughts when the bell above the door rings. What happens next, well. Pete can only describe it as divine intervention.

An angel walks through the door and steps up to the front desk. A man with strawberry blond hair, tousled messily on his head. A man with a frankly illegal mouth and baby blue eyes.

Pete has never felt so attracted to someone before in his life. Especially not within thirty seconds of meeting them. 

The angel rests his elbows on the desk and leans forward, smiling at Pete. Just a little upturn of his lips, really. Pete can smell his cologne, earthy and pleasant.

The man is so close, in fact, Pete can smell his breath, cinnamon gum wedged between his teeth. It’s intoxicating. Pete breathes deeply, trying to act like a normal person who runs an establishment. 

“Hi,” Patrick chuckles a little, at himself or at Pete, he isn’t sure. “I’d like to check in, please. I’ll only be here for a week, tops.” Pete blinks at him, taking in the sound of his melodic, golden honey voice. 

“Right. Yes. Hi. I’ll just need your credit card and then you can sign in on the sheet here.” Pete stutters out, a lot more stilted than usual. Fuck, this dude with a stupidly pretty face is throwing him off his game. 

Patrick nods, humming to himself and pulling his wallet out of his coat pocket before handing Pete his card. Pete doesn’t say anything, just takes the offered card and then nudges the pen and the clipboard towards the man. 

Pete slides the card through the reader, and the man finishes signing his name and the date before taking it back. He puts in his pin number and they both wait for the transaction to go through. Pete turns around and grabs one of the sets of keys off the wall.

Pete holds them out, and the man takes them with a grin. 

“Thanks. It was lovely meeting you...” Patrick starts, then his eyes linger on Pete’s name tag for a moment before flitting back up to his face. “Pete.” He finishes the sentence. Hearing that beautiful voice say his name gives Pete all sorts of deliciously dirty ideas. 

“You too. I really hope you enjoy your stay. Just call if you need anything.” Pete says, trying to keep eye contact. He crosses his fingers behind his back and hopes that didn’t come across as too creepy. 

“I might just do that.” Patrick smirks, amusement dancing in his eyes. Before Pete can say anything more, he’s gone with a flourish, the bell announcing his departure. 

Pete stares at the space that the man was standing in, and then, he turns the clipboard around so he can read his name.

_ Patrick Stump. _

The angel’s name is Patrick. Huh. Pete rolls the name around in his head, seeing how it sounds when the name rolls off his tongue. It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful man, Pete thinks. It suits him well. 

Pete traces the letters of his name on the paper, feeling where the ink is a little raised from the pressure of the pen on the paper. 

He thinks he’s found his new target. Pete smiles down at his desk, adjusts his name tag, and starts to plan a course of action.

xxx

Pete is laying on his couch, that looks like it’s perpetually stuck in the 60’s. His mother always kept the house decorated the same, and he couldn’t bear to change it. Though it’s more of a creepy mansion than a normal house, it still feels like home. 

The wall phone rings, and he stops in the middle of reading Harry Potter to get up and answer it. He twirls the cord around his finger and says “Hello.” 

“Is this Pete?” asks a very familiar, raspy voice. 

“Yes. What can I do for you, Mr. Stump?” Pete replies, acting casual. It’s possible he’s grinning like a goddamn fool. He doesn’t ask how Patrick managed to get his home phone number. But he has a feeling one of the maids gladly gave it to him. He might have to give them another raise for this. 

“I was hoping you could make me dinner and bring it to my room? The maid said you’re the cook around here. I know it’s after working hours, but...my sleep schedule is kind of fucked up from all the travel I’ve been doing, so I slept through dinner. I’m starving and I really don’t wanna do any more driving today.”

Pete cocks his head to the side and smirks at the wallpaper. That sounds a bit like a proposition, if his ears aren’t deceiving him. 

“Absolutely. I’ll make you a sandwich and bring it down to your room.”

“Thanks so much. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll see you soon.” Patrick sounds grateful. 

“It’s no trouble. Just doing my job.” Pete laughs, and then he says goodbye so he can get started on the sandwich. After he’s done and made it look sufficient, he finds a bag of chips in his cupboard and brings that with him too. He also grabs a can of Coke on his way out.

He has everything balanced precariously in his hands, and he slowly makes his way down the flights of stairs in front of his house. They’re a little inconvenient, but at least they all have big landings to take a break for a moment if you want to. 

Pete walks through the parking lot of the motel, his sneakers crunching through the gravel and loose stones. He gets to room number six and manages to get a hand free to knock. 

Patrick opens the door a minute later, clad in batman pajama pants and a John Coltrane t-shirt that looks well worn, with a hole near the collar. 

His hair is decidedly more rumpled than earlier, probably from his nap. 

Patrick smiles at him, and his eyes light up when he sees the bag of chips and the soda. 

He takes it all from Pete and sets the plate and the chips on the bed, settling the drink on the side table. 

“I really appreciate it. Thank you.” Patrick says, oh so polite. God, Pete is going to have fun with this one. 

“Of course. I hope you enjoy it.” Pete smiles, and sits down in the chair across from the foot of the bed. 

Patrick takes a big bite of the sandwich, and Pete waits in anticipation. He isn’t disappointed. Patrick moans, chews, and then swallows. Pete has never seen someone make eating something look so sexual. 

“It’s delicious.” Patrick says, licking a little bit of mustard from the corner of his mouth. 

“It didn’t require much effort on my part, but I’m glad you think it’s good.” Pete chuckles, leaning back in the chair and threading his fingers together as he watches Patrick eat. If he thinks it’s weird, he doesn’t say anything. 

Pete is used to being a voyeur. He loves it, in fact. Granted, it’s more fun when someone doesn’t know they’re being watched.

But there’s a certain thrill to someone being vulnerable enough to let you watch them do something in the comfort of their own room. It still sends a shiver through Pete, but in a different way. Patrick hasn’t asked him to leave. Patrick clearly wants him here. 

Patrick finishes the sandwich in a few bites and then he opens the bag of chips and offers a few to Pete. Pete shakes his head, and tries to think of a good question to ask him. 

Patrick pops the tab on the can of coke and takes a gulp. 

“What brings you around this area?” Pete asks. He figures it’s a good place to start. Maybe he can get a good sense of what Patrick does for a living, why he’s passing through, who he is.

It all starts with the simple stuff. It’s part of gaining trust, which is something Pete has mastered. 

“Uh, business trip.” Patrick mutters, with a look on his face that Pete can’t quite place, but it isn’t good. 

“What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking? I don’t wanna pry. I’m just curious.” Pete smiles primly here, acting properly sheepish. 

“I work at a real estate office. As a secretary. I was trying to work my way up to the top, you know? But it hasn’t really...gone as planned.” Patrick grimaces. 

Pete squints at him for a moment. There’s something very important he’s missing here. Something that Patrick isn’t telling him. 

“What went wrong?” Pete asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“I was told I was going to get this promotion for, I don’t know, several years now. And my boss is a dickwad who won’t give me the raise or the job. No matter how hard I work, it doesn’t seem to matter. I’m pretty sure he never planned on giving me the job to begin with. And that fucking pissed me off.” Patrick huffs, setting aside the bag of chips and soda. 

“Why don’t you just quit if it makes you so unhappy?” Pete inquires. 

“Ha.” Patrick snorts. “I think I just did. Unofficially, of course, but they’d be nuts to not fire me for up and leaving with...well.” Patrick pauses for a moment. “With me just up and leaving across the country.” Patrick finishes, sounding unsure of his own story. Hmm. 

“So this isn’t a business trip. Just a pit stop.” Pete says carefully, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Basically? Yes. I’m searching for meaning, I guess.” Patrick purses his lips in dissatisfaction. 

“What kind of meaning?” Pete prods. 

“I don’t know. A purpose. The meaning of life, or whatever. I’m trying to figure out who I am and what my place is in this world. God, that sounds so cheesy and lame, doesn’t it?” Patrick mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“No. Not at all. I get it.” Pete replies, his voice gentle. 

“I’m hoping the universe will be good to me and send me in the right direction. So maybe me stopping here is all part of the plan.” Patrick says this slowly, trying to judge Pete’s reaction. 

“I think it’s fate.” Pete grins, all sharp teeth and glinting eyes. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

“Is that a line?” Patrick narrows his eyes at him. 

Pete laughs, unable to contain his mirth as he shrugs his shoulders. 

“Not really. I believe in fate. But it does sound poetic. That’s kind of my thing.” Pete smirks. 

“You are far more pretentious than I expected.” Patrick rolls his eyes good naturedly. 

“Maybe, but I own up to it.” Pete says solemnly. 

Patrick is giving him this look, somewhere between adoration and exasperation. It’s Pete’s new favorite thing. 

He wants to write about Patrick’s eyes, caught in the sunshine riptide. True blue. 

He wants to write about the curve of Patrick’s smile, the freckles on his cheeks. He wants every word to be about Patrick. 

Pete gets up from the chair on unsteady feet and sits down on the bed next to Patrick.

Pete bumps their shoulders together, heart racing as he turns inwards and blue meets amber. He’s known for falling too fast. But he doesn’t care. Patrick is the perfect person to get lost in. 

To Pete’s utter delight, Patrick beats him to it and connects their mouths together. Patrick’s lips are soft, the way he kisses gentle and curious. 

Pete deepens the kiss, pressing his tongue into Patrick’s mouth. Pete longs to know every inch of Patrick, tear him apart from the inside out. 

Pete traces the roof of Patrick’s mouth with his tongue, ambitious to win this game of tonsil hockey. 

Patrick laughs into his mouth, and it’s so heavenly Pete think he hears a choir. 

They pull away to breathe, foreheads pressed together. 

“Wow. You’re a really good kisser.” Patrick smiles, eyes more black than blue now. 

Pete can’t help but look smug at the compliment.

“You aren’t so bad yourself.” Pete grins, and then he bites down on Patrick’s bottom lip. 

Patrick makes the most delectable noises, of this Pete is certain. He is a temptation that is handmade just for Pete. Unfortunately for him, sex isn’t on the agenda just yet. 

That isn’t supposed to happen until later in the plan. Pete wants Patrick, God, does he want him. But he doesn’t want to fuck this up before it even begins. 

He wants more than a one night stand with Patrick. He wants to build trust between them. He wants Patrick to fall in love with him. He wants to share his deepest secret with Patrick. But only when the time is right. 

Pete thinks that Patrick may just see his darkness and not run the other way. Maybe that’s wishful thinking on his part, but he has a good feeling about this one. 

Pete is jarred out of his thoughts when Patrick climbs into his lap. Though it pains him, he puts his hands on Patrick’s chest and holds him back. 

“I’m sorry. I like you a lot. It’s just...” Pete trails off. “I don’t want to ruin this. Sex is messy, and it complicates things. Can we take it slow?” 

Never did he think he would utter those words. Especially not with the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen sitting in his lap. 

Surprisingly, Patrick doesn’t get upset about this shift in the itinerary. In fact, he seems charmed by Pete’s (_ fake) _ sincerity. 

“I’ve never been with someone who actually liked me enough to take it slow.” Patrick admits, cheeks flushing as he looks down at the bedspread. 

Pete nudges Patrick’s chin with a gentle index finger, getting him to look into his eyes before he speaks.

“You deserve to be treated like you’re good enough. Hell, you deserve to be treated like you’re fucking _ golden _, because you are.” Pete says this reverently, and the crazy part is, he means it. 

Patrick smiles, the blush spreading down to his neck as he looks at Pete through his eyelashes. 

“Thank you. That’s really sweet of you to say.” Patrick murmurs, leaning in to peck Pete on the lips once more. 

“It’s just the truth, sweetheart.” Pete grins, rubbing a soothing hand down Patrick’s back. 

Patrick shakes his head at this, looking a little embarrassed as he scoots off Pete’s lap and falls back into the pillows. 

Pete pulls out his phone to check the time, and then he stands up, straightening out the wrinkles in his clothes with dexterity. 

“Well, I should get going. It’s late, and even angels need their beauty sleep. Have a good night, Patty.” Pete winks, and then he pauses in the door frame when Patrick replies.

“Good night, Pete. Sweet dreams.” 

Oh, they’re going to be sweet, Pete’s sure of it. 

xxx

The next few days go by with Pete standing sullenly behind the front desk. He expected Patrick to call again, or at least stop by the office. No such luck. He hadn’t even called again to ask for dinner.

Pete goes over the last time he saw Patrick over and over again in his head. Did he do something wrong? Did he manage to scare him off by saying he wanted to take it slow? Was Patrick busy trying to seduce someone else? 

There was only one way to find out. Logically, Pete knows it’s morally abhorrent to stalk someone or spy on them without their knowledge. But he’s never cared much about morals. He lives life by his own rules.

Besides, he can’t just knock on Patrick’s door and _ ask _ why he’s been avoiding him. No, that couldn’t possibly work. Not to mention, it’s much less fun. 

Pete finds himself outside the window of Patrick’s room. It’s closed, but the curtains are wide open. It’s dark enough outside that Patrick won’t be able to see him. Pete crouches down and lifts his head enough so his eyes can just barely peek over the sill. 

Patrick seems far more concerned with an argument with someone. There’s no one else in the motel room, but Pete can clearly see the phone pressed to Patrick’s ear, his free hand gesticulating wildly.

He looks furious. Pete can’t hear what he’s saying, and he’s not good at reading lips. Pete drags his gaze down Patrick, taking in his body language.

He’s pacing the beige carpet, head hanging down and his cinnamon hair feathering into his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Pete wonders who he could be arguing with. A wife? A husband? Or just a friend? Pete desperately wants to find out. He needs to know what Patrick is hiding. 

Pete peers into the motel room more, tilting his head to get a better vantage point. It looks the same as it did the last time Pete was there. Nightstand, alarm clock, lamp, funky patterned wallpaper, Patrick’s clothes scattered across the floor.

Except, the bed isn’t made. It’s a mess, haphazard with the way the comforter is hanging off the edge and trailing onto the floor. 

Patrick’s suitcase is wide open. But it isn’t filled with hygiene products or chargers. No, in fact, Pete looks closer, squinting at the piece of luggage.

It’s a different suitcase than the original one Patrick brought into the motel room. This one is a dark blue, and Patrick must’ve left it in the trunk of his car and snuck it in later that night. Pete thinks he understands why now.

The mysterious suitcase is filled with cash. Bundles upon bundles of hundred dollar bills, wrapped in rubber bands. 

Patrick might not be as innocent as he thought. 

If that isn’t enough to get Pete’s mind racing, then what happens next absolutely is. 

Patrick hangs up the phone and tosses it onto the bed. His frustration seems to give way to panic, rubbing at the tears on his face, trembling. Trying desperately not to crumple to the floor. 

He watches Patrick collect himself, running a hand through his hair. 

Pete is about to turn around and head back to the house, satisfied with what he’s discovered. It’s in this moment that Patrick decides now is a good time to take a shower. 

Patrick unbuttons his shirt and pulls it out of his dress pants. He takes it off slowly, shrugging it off his pale, delicate shoulders.

Pete’s jaw goes slack. Patrick has his back to Pete, his silhouette outlined in the dim light. Pete didn’t expect a free show. A shiver runs down his spine, his eyes pinned to the muscles in Patrick’s shoulder blades.

Patrick unzips his pants, pulling them down his thighs and letting them pool on the floor around his ankles. What lovely, thick thighs they are. Pete aches to bury his head between them.

Pete swallows hard at the way Patrick’s fingers slide under the waistband of his boxers, revealing one inch of creamy skin at a time. 

By the time Patrick steps out of his underwear, Pete’s dick is standing at full attention.

Pete’s eyes hungrily take in the curve of Patrick’s ass, perky and round. Pete wants to sink his teeth into that porcelain skin, leave marks that will last for days. 

Patrick makes his way to the bathroom, and Pete isn’t ashamed that he stares until the door clicks shut. Pete grips himself through his jeans, squeezing to tide him over until he can make it up the steps and back inside his house. 

Pete lets the smirk overtake his face. Patrick is more than meets the eye. This game just got a hell of a lot more interesting. 

xxx

Patrick comes by the front desk the following morning with an apologetic look on his face. Pete tries to contain himself, school his features into something less knowing and more annoyed. 

“Hey, Pete. Listen. I’m sorry if I’m sending you mixed signals. I wasn’t blowing you off, I promise. I just have a lot of shit going on back home, and I got so caught up in it.”

Pete raises one dark brow in response, tilts his head and pretends to look at something on his phone. He wants to make Patrick squirm a little. Pete’s forgiveness has to be earned. 

“Please don’t ignore me.” Patrick begs. Pete glances up this time. Now that’s more like it. _ Keep going, _ Pete urges silently, as if Patrick can read his mind. “I apologize if I hurt your feelings, or made you think I wasn’t interested.” 

Pete hums noncommittally, trying to keep his smile at bay. 

“You did hurt my feelings, I must admit. I assumed you’d found someone more normal.” Pete clicks his tongue to punctuate the end of his sentence. 

Patrick’s eyebrows furrow together at that, frowning intensely. 

“Pete,” Patrick says, ever so gently. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. Not in that tone. Also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty fucking weird myself. Why would I wanna date someone normal when I have you?” God, he sounds so earnest. Pete can taste the victory on his tongue, dissolving in his mouth like a drug. 

“Right answer. You’re real sweet, aren’t you, Trick?” Pete’s lips quirk up at the corners with amusement. Patrick blushes a pretty pink, like clockwork. It makes Pete weak in the knees. “God, I love making you blush. It makes me feel like I’m on top of the fucking world.” 

Patrick flushes more at this, but he meets Pete’s eyes with utter adoration. 

“Fuck off,” Patrick laughs. “You’re the one who’s a sweet talker.” 

“You got me there.” Pete snorts. “How about you meet me at my house tonight. Seven o’clock. I’ll cook you dinner and we can just talk.” 

“It’s a date.” Patrick beams at him. Pete can’t help but return it in full force. 

xxx

When Pete opens the door at seven on the dot, Patrick stands in front of him clad in black skinny jeans and a navy blue denim button up shirt, fedora placed on his head precariously and a bouquet of roses clutched in his hand. 

“Hi,” Pete grins, his eyes gleaming with his excitement. “You look gorgeous. Are those for me? You shouldn’t have.” Pete laughs, taking the roses from Patrick’s outstretched hand and gesturing him inside. 

“Hey. Do you like them? I saw your neck tattoo and I was hoping you’d appreciate the gesture, or something.” Patrick stutters, a little nervous. He’s so adorable, Pete wants to pinch his cheeks. 

“I do like them. Thank you.” Pete simpers, pleased with how bashful this version of Patrick seems to be. He’s so thoughtful, too. Pete wants to keep him. 

Pete goes into the kitchen to check on the food, and then he grabs a vase from the cupboard to put the roses in. He goes to the sink to fill the vase with water and places the flowers on the table inside of it. 

Patrick is sitting on the couch when he gets back, looking around the expansive living room. 

“This place is huge. And very…” Patrick trails off, grimacing. He’s probably trying to avoid insulting Pete’s taste. 

“Ugly and stuck in a time warp, I know.” Pete chuckles. “This was my mother’s house. I didn’t have the heart to change anything about it. It comforts me, being surrounded by her things. No matter how tacky and outdated they are.” 

“That’s actually really nice.” Patrick smiles. 

“I try. So. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. In the meantime, can I get you a drink?” Pete asks. 

“Yeah. Just water is fine, thanks.” Patrick replies. Pete makes his way back into the kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge and stir the stew. 

Pete settles on the opposite side of the couch and hands Patrick the water bottle. Patrick accepts it and cracks it open to take a sip before setting it on the coffee table. 

“How did you end up running this place, if you don’t mind me asking?” Patrick inquires, leaning forward to catch Pete’s gaze. 

“My mother and father used to run it. Family business. My father died when I was really little, so I don’t remember him very well. My mother passed a few years ago, and I’m the only child who cared enough to take up the mantle, I guess.” Pete shrugs. 

“I’m sorry for your loss. Taking care of a property like this, plus the motel seems like a lot of responsibility.” Patrick says solemnly. 

“It is.” Pete nods. “I try to handle it with the grace that my mother used to. This is my family’s legacy, so I want to take good care of the place.” 

“You’re really something special, you know that?” Patrick beams. 

“Not really, Lunchbox,” Pete snorts. “But I appreciate the fact that you think so.” 

Patrick scrunches up his nose, whether it’s at the nickname or the deflection of the compliment, Pete isn’t sure. 

“I feel like we should have the talk.” Patrick states, like those aren’t words that most people dread. Luckily, Pete isn’t afraid of anything. 

“The relationship talk?” Pete smirks. 

“Yes,” Patrick rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna make this far more complicated than it needs to be.” Pete’s smirk turns into a predatory grin, all teeth.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Pete retorts. 

“Look. I like you a lot. I want to get to know you better. In a casual dating sort of way. But I don’t really know how long I’ll be staying in the area. Which makes things a little harder.” Patrick bites his lip, waiting for Pete’s response. 

“I like you too. Casual dating sounds perfect.” Pete says, lying through his teeth. He wants Patrick to be his and only his. But good things come to those who wait. “We can work out the logistics of whatever that means as we go.” Pete reassures. Patrick nods, a hopeful look on his face. 

Pete gets up to turn off the stove and put the beef stew into two bowls, and then he sets them both on the coffee table and hands Patrick a spoon. 

“Smells incredible.” Patrick compliments, digging in.

They eat and talk for awhile, until they’ve finished dinner and Pete comes back with pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream for dessert. The tension between them feels electric, like a guitar string about to snap. They’re bantering back and forth, laughing and having fun.

When they’re both done with dessert, Pete rinses their plates and forks and puts them in the dishpan. When he gets back to the living room, Patrick is standing and looking unsure. 

“What’s wrong?” Pete asks, frozen in the doorframe. 

“Nothing, actually. Everything is great. I’m just not used to things going well, you know?” Patrick giggles. 

“I understand. But I’m glad you’re having a good time. I am, too.” Pete smiles, and takes a couple steps until the toes of their shoes are touching. 

Patrick grabs his face, his fingers settling on Pete’s stubbled jaw as he leans in and kisses him. He tastes just as sweet as the last time. 

It heats up quickly, going from soft kisses to deep ones, their tongues tangling and their bodies crushing together. 

Pete pulls back a little to catch his breath, but their foreheads are still pressed against one another. 

“I really want to fuck you.” Patrick murmurs, his lips still brushing against Pete’s mouth. 

Pete makes a noise that sounds like a dying animal. 

“Please.” Pete begs. The bedroom is the only time he will ever beg. He’s not ashamed of it. 

Patrick smirks at him, and Pete kisses him hard.

Pete drags Patrick up the stairs by his wrist, until he can manage to kick his bedroom door open and they fall back onto the bed.

Pete scrambles to start unbuttoning Patrick’s shirt, his fingers holding tight to Patrick’s collar as they kiss. 

Patrick bites at his swollen bottom lip, and Pete manages to undo the last button and pull the shirt off Patrick’s shoulders and throw it onto the floor. 

Patrick leans away from him, crossing his arms over his stomach before Pete can even get a good look at the exposed skin. That just won’t do. 

“Patrick,” Pete croons. “Let me see you. Please don’t be like that, baby. You’re beautiful.” He’s laying it on thick, maybe. But he means it. And he really loves making Patrick blush, okay? 

Patrick hesitantly lets his arms fall back to his sides. Pete’s eyes take in the expanse of creamy skin, Patrick’s golden-haired chest and the soft pudge of his belly. 

Pete places a kiss on Patrick’s sternum, and then he scoots back on the bed so he has enough room to pull his tank top over his head and get rid of it. His jeans and boxers follow suit, and then he’s sitting in front of Patrick naked. 

“Fucking hell, you’re gorgeous. Wow.” Patrick gasps, his eyes wide with desire. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, darling. Now, be a good boy and take off your pants for me.” Pete orders. Patrick frowns at him. Which isn’t really the reaction he was expecting. 

“I thought I was going to be in charge.” Patrick huffs, looking put out. Pete can’t help it, he laughs. 

“You are. I’m just trying to get things moving. What can I say, I’m eager.” Pete wiggles his eyebrows at him. Patrick’s face seems to soften at this, like he’s trying to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Alright. As long as we have an understanding.” Patrick sighs, his hands resting on his belt buckle. Patrick starts undoing his belt, and Pete leans forward to pluck the fedora off his head and set it on the nightstand. 

Once they’re both naked, Patrick gets on top of him. 

“Mm. That’s good.” Pete hums, throwing his head back to give Patrick more room to leave marks on his throat. They’re pressed together, skin to skin. Pete thinks this must be what heaven is like. 

Patrick pulls back to rummage through Pete’s drawers, until he emerges victorious with a condom and a bottle of lube. 

Pete spreads his legs in invitation. Patrick gets between his legs and starts kissing his inner thighs. Pete shivers, tense with anticipation. Patrick takes his time, teasing Pete with a nip, just a scrape of teeth near his perineum. 

Patrick opens the bottle of lube and squirts it into his hand, warming it up between his fingers. His free hand settles on Pete’s tummy, tracing over the bartskull.

His index finger circles Pete’s entrance, applying pressure until he breaches him. Pete sucks in a sharp breath at the intrusion, tries to relax his body to make it easier. He hasn’t bottomed for a long time. He enjoys it, but he usually prefers to top. 

Patrick is special. He’s different. Pete wants him inside him in this primal, urgent sort of way. He’s never felt quite like this about anyone else before. 

Patrick slides another digit inside him gently, twisting his wrist in search of Pete’s spot. Pete arches up involuntarily, whining high in the back of his throat as he rides Patrick’s hand. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” Pete moans. Patrick hides his smile in Pete’s thigh, and adds another finger. 

Pete trembles, the stretch burns a bit. But the pain gives way to pleasure when Patrick finally rubs up against his prostate.

“_ Oh! _ Yes, holy fuck, baby. Don’t stop.” Pete pants, squirming beneath Patrick. 

“I think you’re ready for me.” Patrick murmurs, and then he pulls out his fingers, leaving Pete cold and empty. His hole clenches around nothing, wet and greedy for more. Pete groans at the loss, but then he’s watching Patrick slide the condom on his dick. 

Patrick presses down against him, until they’re chest to chest and Patrick can bury his face in Pete’s neck.

Patrick grabs his cock by the base and pushes the blunt head of it inside Pete, agonizing inch by inch. Fuck, he’s much bigger than Pete had even hoped for. He might be a bit of a size queen, he can admit. 

“Holy shit,” Pete laughs, exhilarated as Patrick bottoms out. “It’s definitely illegal for you to be walking around packing_ that _much in your fucking pants.” 

“Oh my God,” Patrick snorts into the skin of Pete’s pec. “You’re much funnier with a dick inside you, huh?” Patrick’s voice is full of mirth. 

“I resent that. I’m always hilarious.” Pete fires back. “Move, please.” Pete whines, wiggling his hips to try and be enticing. Oddly enough, it works.

Patrick gets this really concentrated, serious look on his face when he fucks. It’s unbearably sexy. 

Pete runs his hands over Patrick’s back, down his shoulder blades and into the dip of his lower back.

Pete grabs two handfuls of Patrick’s ass in the midst of getting fucked supremely well, if he does say so himself. It’s a really great ass. They’ll have to switch next time, so he can fuck it. And eat Patrick out, ideally. But he’ll worry about that later.

Patrick thrusts in a perfect rhythm, and Pete has an inkling that Patrick must be a musician of some kind, even if it’s just a hobby. He makes a note of it to ask later, and then his breath is stolen from his lungs when Patrick lifts his legs so they rest on his shoulders.

The angle change is fucking magnificent, and Patrick is pistoning in and out of him so fast his flush travels all the way down his chest. It’s stunning. 

Pete’s close, his balls drawing up tight and his cock begging for friction. 

Pete’s noises go up an octave, more obscene and intense. Patrick, the attuned lover that he is, takes notice of this. 

“You’re close. You gonna come for me, honey?” Patrick simpers, one of his hands trailing up Pete’s thigh until he brushes up against Pete’s swollen, fit to burst prick. 

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Touch me, please.” Pete babbles, incessantly muttering curses under his breath. Patrick grips his dick in his fist, stroking up and down in time with his hips. 

Pete pushes back against him, impaling himself on Patrick’s cock and fucking up into his fist. They move in perfect harmony together, both chasing their release. 

Pete comes first, eyes rolling back in his head, spurting between their bellies and coating Patrick’s fist in pearlescent streaks. Pete rides the high of the orgasm, and Patrick tries to milk every last drop from him. 

Pete closes his eyes and lets the aftershocks go through his body, his limbs feel like jelly, covered in a sheen of sweat. 

When he opens his eyes, Patrick is watching him intently. 

“Do you want me to pull out?” Patrick asks, and he looks like he means it. He’d really stop if Pete wanted him to, if it hurt too much. Pete has this man wrapped around his finger, and that’s exactly where he wants him.

“No,” Pete shakes his head. “Come inside me.”

Patrick thrusts into him with fervor, and Pete lays back and lets him enjoy it. Pete is overstimulated, but he likes the sting of it. He can’t come again, but he wants to see what Patrick looks like when he does. 

Patrick comes a few moments later, a growl ripping through his chest as he bites into Pete’s shoulder and grips his hips tightly. It’s a sight to behold.

They stay pressed together for a few more minutes, and then Patrick pulls out slowly and rolls off of him to tie off the condom.

Patrick gets up to toss it in the bathroom garbage, and then he comes back with a warm washcloth to clean them up. 

Pete thinks he’s got this one, hook, line, and sinker. He falls asleep with his head on Patrick’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

xxx

When Pete wakes up the next morning, Patrick is already awake, staring at him. He thinks maybe he should find that creepy, but he’s not exactly a normal person.

There’s a companionable silence between them, and Pete thinks, much like a cobra going for the kill, this is his time to strike. When his target is lulled into a false sense of security. 

“Do you wanna tell me why you have a suitcase full of cash? Because I’ve been trying to work it out in my head, but I figured I’d give you a chance to explain it to me first.” Pete’s words cut through the air like a knife, sharp-edged and full of satisfaction.

The blood drains from Patrick’s face, his breaths coming fast and shallow, his mouth slack with shock.

Once he’s gathered himself, Patrick looks at Pete with a combination of defiance and fear. Pete relishes being the one with the power, gets drunk on it.

“How the fuck do you even know about that? Were you _ spying _ on me?” Patrick yelps, very indignant. Pete doesn’t bother dictating that one with an answer that’s glaringly obvious. 

“Patrick,” Pete tsks. “You’re going to be in a lot of trouble if you don’t fess up.” Pete doesn’t clarify what exactly he means by that, but he’s sure whatever Patrick is imagining is far more tame than what Pete’s thinking.

“I stole it! Is that what you want to hear? I took it from where I work and then I drove the fuck away and ended up here. That’s it. That’s the story.” Patrick huffs, his eyes looking frantic. 

“What a naughty boy you are. It’s deceiving, how innocent you look. Why did you do it? Are you a klepto? Do you get off on it?” Pete tuts, his voice dripping with condescendence. 

“Jesus Christ. _ No _.” Patrick huffs emphatically. “I was full of spite. I wanted my boss to realize it was a mistake to not give me that promotion. It was a heat of the moment decision. In hindsight, it was really fucking stupid of me. But I can’t exactly take it back now.” 

“That’s...anticlimactic. And frankly, disappointing.” Pete pouts. “I have another question, though. Who were you arguing with on the phone?” 

Patrick glares at him, caught somewhere between rage and disbelief.

“I can’t believe you think you’re entitled to my personal life. That’s none of your fucking business.” Patrick spits out. 

“Really? Because you’ve already told me a lot of awfully personal things and you’ve only known me for about a week.” Pete retorts. 

“Fuck you, asshole. I thought I could trust you. But clearly I was wrong. You’re a creep.” Patrick hisses. Pete laughs, but the sound is hollow, devoid of humor. 

“I’ve definitely never heard that one before.” Pete cocks his head and looks at Patrick sternly. “You might want to be careful what you say to me, Patty. You don’t wanna get on my bad side.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Patrick blurts out in alarm. “Did you just threaten me?” 

“Not directly.” Pete shrugs.

“You’re fucking unbelievable. How did I even get here? This is insane. I must be losing my goddamn mind.” Patrick mutters the last sentence under his breath. 

Patrick gets up from the bed, the sheets falling from his body as he starts gathering his clothes from the floor. Pete stares at his ass as he pulls his boxers up over his thighs, and his jeans and belt follow.

Patrick doesn’t bother buttoning up his shirt, he just pulls it up over his shoulders and grabs his phone from the nightstand. 

Pete doesn’t ask him where he’s going. He just lets Patrick leave, down the stairs and out the front door with a slam. 

He’s mad. He should be. This is all part of the plan. Patrick just needs to cool down. He’ll come crawling back to Pete. He knows he will. 

xxx

Pete’s plan appears to be going terribly wrong, all of a sudden. Everything was just peachy, and then this stranger shows up outside of Patrick’s motel room door. 

That might not sound inherently bad, except Pete is pretty sure this must be the person Patrick was arguing with over the phone the other night. 

Not to mention, this man is incredibly attractive. Tall, dark, and handsome. He looks intimidating. He also looks really angry.

The man is banging on Patrick’s door and cursing loudly. Pete can hear him all the way from the office, so he peeks out of the blinds and sees the man eventually be let inside Patrick’s room.

Pete waits for about an hour, and then he walks to the door and knocks as politely as possible. 

The man answers the door this time, his eyes bottomless and his mouth a harsh line.

“Can I help you?” He spits out. Pete frowns, and tries to get on his tiptoes to look over the man’s shoulder for Patrick.

“Yes. I’m looking for Patrick.” Pete says primly. 

“Why?” The man asks, narrowing his eyes at Pete, as if he’s sizing him up. 

“Turn down service.” Pete lies, fake smile firmly in place. This seems to placate the man, as he turns around and gestures for Patrick to come to the door.

Patrick does, if a little reluctantly, walk through the door frame and then shut it behind him, so that it’s just him and Pete. The mysterious man is stuck on the other side.

“What the_ fuck _do you think you’re doing?” Patrick hisses. 

“I saw a mysterious dude walk into your room. I wanted to make sure no one was being murdered in there.” Pete fires back, totally calm and sensible and not at all a serial killer. Definitely not a weird, suspicious joke to make. He swears. 

“We’ve been over this. My personal life is none of your business. Please leave me and my friend alone.” Patrick groans, exasperated. 

“_ Friend? _” Pete tilts his head, his eyes boring into Patrick knowingly. 

“Why does it even matter to you? He’s my ex fucking boyfriend, there, are you happy now?” Patrick clenches his jaw in annoyance. He looks like he wants to punch Pete in the face. 

“No, I’m not. I wanted to be with you forever, Patrick. But you’re ruining my plan. And that just won’t do.” Pete glowers, pressing a hand to his chest in a very overdramatic fashion. 

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but I’ll be out of here by tomorrow night. Stay away from me.” Patrick squeaks out. It’s not very scary. 

Patrick turns around and goes back into his room, shutting the door in Pete’s face.

Pete would also like to clarify that Patrick said stay away from _ me _, not anyone else specifically.

That man isn’t his friend. If anything, he’s a jilted ex boyfriend. And nobody likes those. Not that this argument would hold up in a court of law. But that’s semantics. 

xxx

Pete finds out that Patrick’s ex boyfriend’s name is Gabe. If he does this by looking through the peephole in the wall, hidden behind a painting, no one else but him has to know.

It would appear Gabe is mad at him for running away after they broke up. He’s also angry with Patrick for not splitting the money with him, of course. He’s an asshole, that Pete can be certain of. 

Pete doesn’t like it when other people get in his way. Patrick is supposed to be his happily ever after. He won’t let Gabe tear them apart. 

Obviously, that leaves Pete with one solution. He has to kill Gabe, because he won’t leave without taking Patrick with him. 

Patrick is planning on leaving tonight, so he’ll need Gabe to be mysteriously missing by then. Pete knows that if Gabe is gone that he can convince Patrick to stay here.

He can convince Patrick they’re meant to be together. He’s awfully persuasive, after all. It’s one of his many talents. 

All he has to do is wait for Gabe to come out of the room. Then he can sedate him, and drag him to his kill room inside, covered in plastic and with all his tools lined up neatly. 

Pete sits by the window of the house, staring at the motel with latex gloves on and a needle in his hand, prepared to pounce. 

Luckily, there’s nobody else at the motel or anywhere else around for miles. It makes Pete’s job much easier. All he has to do is kill Gabe and dispose of his body before Patrick notices that he’s been gone too long. 

At around three in the afternoon, Gabe steps out of the room to smoke a cigarette. Pete smirks, and he makes his way down the stairs on silent feet. 

Pete walks along the sidewalk, and then he gets behind Gabe, blowing smoke rings and unsuspecting. 

Pete wraps an arm tight around his throat and yanks him backwards, so he can jam the needle into his neck and push down the syringe. 

Gabe is knocked out in seconds, limp in his arms. Pete stashes the needle in his pocket, and picks up the lit cigarette from the ground and stubs it out before dragging Gabe up the steps.

He’s a lot heavier than he looks, but for a tiny man, Pete is strong. You kind of have to be, if your hobby is killing people.

Pete manages to stumble his way through the door with his hands under Gabe’s armpits, and then he lets him fall to the floor while he turns to close the door and lock it tightly. 

Pete takes a few deep, measured breaths, and then he picks up Gabe again, a bit like a rag doll. Pete gets him to the kill room, and manages to lift him onto the table. He gets out his sheets of plastic wrap, strips off all of Gabe’s clothes, and manages to bind him to the table before he wakes up.

Pete grabs the cobra necklace from around his neck and stashes that in his pocket as a keepsake. 

When Gabe comes to, Pete has his favorite knife in his right hand. 

Gabe tries to fight against the restraints, but, much like every victim before him, it’s no use. 

“What the fuck is this?” Gabe yells. “Let me go, you sick pendejo!” 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, Patrick is mine. And you’re getting in the way of my grand plan of seduction. So, I have to kill you. I’m sure Patrick will understand. Hell, he might even_ thank _ me.” Pete cackles. 

“He was right. You’re insane. Holy shit.” Gabe mutters to himself.

“I never claimed to be sane to begin with.” Pete shrugs, pointing the knife down towards Gabe’s chest and resting the tip against his sternum. 

“Wait! Wait. Fuck, please don’t kill me. I’ll do whatever you want. I can make Patrick listen to me. I can get him to stay.” Gabe sounds desperate now. Pete’s never understood why people always beg for mercy. It gets them nowhere. It makes them look pathetic. 

“Mmm.” Pete pretends to contemplate the offer for a moment. “Nah. I think I can convince him just fine all by myself. Any last words?” Pete asks.

“You’re going to rot in hell.” Gabe spits.

“I’ll see you there, buddy.” Pete smirks, and then, at last, he moves the knife so it’s placed over Gabe’s heart, and he drives it through his chest.

The adrenaline courses through his veins, makes him feel powerful and complete. Gabe’s blood pours out of him, spilling over the plastic wrap and spreading down his abdomen. He’s dead within seconds, the light leaving his eyes. 

Pete always gets such a high from killing people. It feels like a need that has to be met. His dark passenger will always be with him. This is the only way he can satiate it. He’s learned to accept it as a part of him. He’s learned to enjoy it. 

But Pete doesn’t have time to waste. So he cuts off the plastic wrap, and gets to work on chopping Gabe into tiny pieces.

Dismemberment isn’t pretty, but nobody ever said killing people is an art form. Although Pete thinks it is, that doesn’t make it so. But breaking the body up into smaller parts makes it easier to transport without as much suspicion. 

Pete loads the bags of what’s left of Gabe onto his boat, rides out into the lake, and drops the black garbage bags into the water. He watches them sink to the bottom of the lake, never to be found again. 

When Pete gets back inside the house, he changes his shirt and cleans up the kill room for next time. Because there will always be a next time. 

Pete has just made himself dinner when Patrick knocks on his door. 

Pete pulls the door open and is greeted with a very concerned and accusing look on Patrick’s face. It’s an odd combination. Maybe Patrick is smarter than he thought. 

“What in the everloving fuck did you do to Gabe?” Patrick asks, voice frantic as he shoves Pete in the chest and follows him as he staggers into the living room. 

“He’s not in your room?” Pete asks, batting his lashes. He’s going to play dumb. Of course he is. It’s much more fun this way. 

“No, you fucking psycho! He’s gone. What did you do? Torture him? Kill him?” Patrick shrieks. 

“Ding ding ding! You got it.” Pete grins, all sharp teeth as he touches a finger to his nose playfully. Patrick blanches, looking like he’s ready to projectile vomit. 

“Oh my God. You’re nuts. You’re absolutely a psychopath. I have to get out of here. I have to leave right now.” Patrick says, spinning around and making a dash for the door. 

Pete stops him, slamming him against the door and shutting it in the process. 

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, my love. Let me explain.” Pete purses his lips, hands on either side of Patrick’s body.

Patrick shakes his head, visibly trembling now. 

“I just wanted you to be mine forever. Now, nothing and no one can keep us apart. Don’t you see? I did this for you. Gabe was a piece of shit. I did you a favor.” Pete says this, very matter-of-factly. 

“You are _ delusional. _” Patrick growls. “I will never be with you. Never again.” 

“You might want to rethink that, Pattycakes.” Pete pouts, his tone mocking. “If I can’t have you, nobody can.” 

Pete wraps his hands around Patrick’s throat and squeezes. 

“Stop.” Patrick tries to gasp out, garbled as Pete’s fingers constrict his airway. Pete squeezes harder, trying to crush Patrick’s windpipe. 

Patrick scrabbles at Pete’s hands, trying uselessly to get him to let go. 

Patrick is turning red, the lack of oxygen to his brain making him dizzy. 

Suddenly, Patrick knees him in the balls as hard as he can. Pete yelps in pain and lets go of Patrick’s throat. Patrick manages to push him away and wrench the door open. 

Patrick starts running down the steps and Pete chases after him, going down the stairs as fast as he can manage while he’s still in pain. 

Patrick makes it back to his room, but he doesn’t bother locking the door. Pete reaches the doorframe before Patrick can get back out. Pete is guessing that Patrick was trying to grab his things and make it to his car before Pete caught up to him. 

Patrick spins around to face him, chest heaving with a gun held in his shaking hands. 

Pete holds up his hands and grins. 

“You’re not gonna shoot me. You’re bluffing. Put the gun down, Patrick. Stay here with me and all will be forgiven.” Pete says, his voice syrupy sweet. Patrick’s lower lip quivers, tears in his eyes as he trembles and tries to make a decision. 

Pete reaches out for the gun. Patrick points it at him and shoots. The sound of the gunshot is loud in his ears, booming and ricocheting in his brain.

Pete reaches down and clutches at his stomach. He can’t feel any pain through the shock of it yet, but he can feel the sticky red blood slipping through his fingers and soaking into his shirt. 

“Patrick, how could you?” Pete rasps, falling to his knees in betrayal. He didn’t think Patrick was strong enough to hurt him. He didn’t think Patrick was smart enough to escape. 

“You aren’t who I thought you were. You’re just a monster. You’re not a _ person _anymore. I don’t know what happened to you to make you this way, but I don’t think I want to know. You deserve to die here. Alone.” Patrick says, full of pity for a man that is nothing but a shell. 

Pete closes his eyes and let the tears burn hot and angry down his face. He’s heartbroken. His one and only chance at happiness is gone forever.

Patrick stuffs the gun into his suitcase, walks out of the motel room, and starts the car. Pete hears the sound of the tires crunching through the gravel of the parking lot, and then Patrick is free. Free of the ghost of him. 

It’s not so much remorse that he’s feeling, it’s more a sense of loss for what he could’ve had. A future with Patrick. A love that burns so fucking bright. 

Pete lays down on the beige carpet and lets himself bleed to death. It’s what he deserves, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> oh god. this fic was a labor of love. and by that, i mean i wrote it with blood sweat and tears. i didn't think i'd finish it in time. it was a pain in my ass. maybe it's because i've never written anything like this before, of the horror variety. or maybe it was the pressure of a deadline to be a part of this collection! which is super exciting by the way, i just need to pace myself better next time lol. 
> 
> i'm a happy endings kind of girl. this fic is clearly not that. i hope y'all can forgive me for killing gabe and pete. but it's better than killing patrick, isn't it? i tried to spare you guys, i swear. if you've never watched dexter or bates motel, i highly recommend. please tell me you at least like it. kudos and comments make my world go round.
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob
> 
> title from the calendar by p!atd


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